The Moaning of Life. Karl Pilkington
I work, so I left Vinnie and his followers to it. People who I’ve gone out with have been friends of friends who I’ve got to know over time, so there was no going up to strangers and trying to chat them up needed. I didn’t even like a couple of them that much to start with, but then we ended up getting on over time. It’s like my relationship with olives. They were always plonked on a table when I went out for dinner even though they were not requested, and I didn’t like them. Couldn’t see the attraction. I didn’t even look at them. But over time I got used to seeing them, tried them one night, and now I love them. This is the way it works for me. Each to their own, though.
THE SCIENCE OF ATTRACTION
One of the main problems with trying to find a partner is that we leave too much of the decision up to our eyes. Too much is based on looks. So I was curious about where I was going next on my trip. It was a pheromone party at a bar called Los Globos in LA. This is a new way of meeting people using your nose. Rather than the way people look, you go for their smell. There must be something in this concept, as it’s going back to basics and using other senses to find the right partner, just like the cavemen and -women must have done.
The smell of someone isn’t something you ever think about, is it? On the way out to Vegas I watched the film Frankie and Johnny with Al Pacino and Michelle Pfeiffer. I thought she was quite attractive, but she might really stink, for all I know. All these good-looking Hollywood types – Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Aniston and Reese Witherspoon – they could all stink to high heaven. It makes sense now. We see all these showbiz stunners splitting up from each other all the time and we think, ‘God, why aren’t they happy, she’s really nice.’ It’s probably cos they stink. If someone stinks, how can you live with them? If you’ve ever had dogshit on your shoe, you’ll know you can’t think about anything until you get rid of the smell. You can trust your nose more than your eyes too, as eyes don’t focus on the right things. The number of times my eyes are busy looking at my phone or the newspaper and forget to check on the toast, it’s the nose that says, ‘Your toast is burning!’ My nose never gets tired either. After fourteen or fifteen hours eyes need to sleep, yet the nose keeps going.
The T-shirt I had been wearing since I left London was placed in a plastic freezer bag with the number fifty written on a Post-it note. Blue Post-it notes for men, pink for women. Everyone there was sniffing bags searching for a pheromone match. If you found a smell you liked, it meant you were attracted to that person’s pheromones.
WOMAN ON FRONT DESK: Pay close attention to the screen, because women who like your scent will take your bag and hold it up, and if you’d like to go and talk to that lady, go and talk to her.
There were plenty of bags on the tables as well as a few cups of coffee beans. These were there to be sniffed between each bag to reset your nose senses. A bit like a palate cleanser, like a sorbet. It wasn’t long before I found a smell that I liked, so I went and had my photo taken with it like the woman on the front desk told me to. I went back to the table and found another. Either there were quite a few women who were well suited to me, or I’d just found out that my nose is a bit of a slag.
It’s funny how smells stay with you and bring back memories, even horrible smells. The mustiness of one bag I smelled reminded me of a woman from the estate I grew up on who was known as Scruffy Sandra. She used to get a full seat to herself on the bus cos of her smell. The thing is, though, sometimes women wear so much perfume it makes me wonder what they are trying to hide. It makes me suspicious. My favourite smell is fresh air. When Suzanne has been out and comes in I like that smell. And it’s free. Or when she’s cooked a Sunday dinner and her hair smells of lamb chops.
MAN: The first one is better than the second one?
KARL: Yeah, because that was forced on me when the woman sort of said you’ve got to smell this. I was expecting something better.
MAN: Right, right, right, yeah, that kinda turned me off too.
KARL: Oh Jesus, that should be binned.
MAN: Do you go for guys too?
KARL: No. Oh, is that a bloke’s?
MAN: Blue Post-it is guys.
KARL: Oh yeah . . . Forgot. Jesus. It wants bloody burning that does.
Getting a whiff of another bloke’s T-shirt made me think I was in with a good chance. I don’t smell that much, as I don’t really sweat, so I’ve never had to cover myself in aftershaves or spray. I’ve never bought aftershave in my life, it’s always been a gift. Same applies to underpants and tea towels. Suzanne recognises my smell, though, and she says she keeps some of my clothes around when I’m away so it smells like I’m there. It’s probably just an excuse not to get the washing done.
I didn’t feel any stress at this event. If a girl doesn’t like you because you’re boring or ugly it could be quite hurtful, but them not liking the smell of me doesn’t seem so bad.
I pulled out shirts and blouses and had a good whiff. I found my eyes started to interfere by looking at the size of the garment. I suppose that’s where there is a bit of a flaw in this scheme. It’s not that I find bigger women unattractive, it’s the cost to run them that worries me. Food isn’t cheap.
A woman came over after seeing me hold up her number.
KARL: Which one were you?
WOMAN: Twenty-nine. What did you like about it?
KARL: Can I have a smell again, or I could just smell you?
WOMAN: You don’t remember?!
KARL: Well, I’ve had me nose in a lot of stuff.
WOMAN: So you’ve just been willy-nilly choosing shirts that you smell, just like 1, 2, 3?!
KARL: No, I wasn’t! I wasn’t picking willy-nilly. I picked three. I smelled it for like twenty seconds. I’m not . . .
WOMAN: You picked three. So how many have you smelled? Three out of how many?
KARL: We’re not getting on, this isn’t happening.
WOMAN: No, it’s not working.
KARL: Listen, you smelled nice. You were me favourite.
WOMAN: I would be complimented if you even remembered which one I was.
KARL: I liked it at the time.
WOMAN: Okay, which one was it then?
KARL: Twenty-something . . . twenty-three?
WOMAN: No, sorry.
KARL: So that’s it?
WOMAN: Yeah that’s it. (walks away)
KARL: Jesus!
She might have smelled okay, but I guess smells don’t warn you about mentals. I think she was being a bit unreasonable. I’m human, not a bleeding police dog. A bigger woman came over. She looked like Velma from Scooby Doo – all curly hair and glasses. She told me I smelled ‘chocolatey’. Which was probably about right as I’d been eating Minstrels for about twenty-four hours.
KARL: Has anything ever come out of these events as a relationship?
WOMAN: Well, yeah. I mean, Judith who created this party tracks what happens to people, and relationships come out of it.
KARL: Well, that’s good then, ain’t it? Can’t knock it.
WOMAN: It’s no worse than any other singles party. It’s instinct. We’re animals.
KARL: Well said. See, I thought just chatting and showing knowledge helped attract people. Do you know what a wombat is?